


You're The One That I Want

by succubusybody



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood, Broken Bones, Captivity, Clothed Sex, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dominant Kylo Ren, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Kidnapping, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Leia Is Not Nice, Major Character Injury, Manipulation, Mild Gore, Non-Consensual Bondage, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Size Kink, Stockholm Syndrome, Threats of Violence, Trauma bond, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-08-02 02:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/succubusybody/pseuds/succubusybody
Summary: Rey saved for years to afford a spring break trip to Rome. It's a dream come true - until she meets a man on her last night out, and the dream very quickly becomes a nightmare.





	1. I've got chills

**Author's Note:**

> hey mtv welcome to my twisted fic
> 
> this is a darkfic that i'm really excited to share!!! i've been writing stuff like this for a while. if you don't like darkfics, don't like violence, don't like evil kylo, don't like anything listed in the tags... probably shouldn't read it!!! but if you do then welcome and let's be friends
> 
> this first chapter is kinda short but they'll probably get longer as i figure out what i'm doing with this lol

Rey’s not sure exactly how many drinks she’s had, at this point, but he’s bought most of them, and who is she to say no to a free drink? Besides, it feels nice - her head swims pleasantly, the busy chatter of the bar is great background noise, and he’s sat close enough to her on the booth that the spicy scent of his cologne wraps around her in a warm haze.

This is exactly what she’d had in mind for her last spring break, a solo trip to Rome: she feels like she’s living in a goddamn movie. 

“Are you ready for another?” 

His voice is low and heavy in her ear, dreamy with an Italian accent. Rey leans into his chest, heavy-lidded gaze resting on the ice that’s sweating in the glass of her last drink. She’d only just finished it. Her eyes flicker over to his glass of wine - which, if her memory serves, is the only one he’s had that night. Only one she’s seen, anyway.

As much as she doesn’t want to, she shakes her head no. She needs to get back to the hostel. “I’ve got a flight back to the States tomorrow morning.” The excuse tumbles out in a disappointed mumble as she starts to carefully pull herself out from underneath his arm. She could definitely go for another drink, but she definitely doesn’t need one - and probably didn’t need the last two, either. 

“But I had a great night, and I have a private room at the hostel…?” Her eyes are practically shining as she looks up at him, emboldened by all the drinks and certain he’s interested from all the money he’s spent on her over the course of the evening. 

She can’t quite remember his name - something exotic sounding, something unusual - but he’s been kind and he’s handsome enough and she figures she might as well get something other than free drinks from him, if he’s here.

He raises one dark brow, just ever so slightly, and she’s met with silence for what feels like the longest time. Heat prickles at her cheeks and ears. Embarrassment. He’s what, thirty? And clearly successful… and she’s sloppily propositioning him like he’s one of the guys she’d met at the frat party. Rey’s stomach twists, and she wonders if she can just slip away from the table and somehow leave with what’s left of her dignity.

“Let me settle up at the bar first, hm? Come.” 

Relief floods her as she lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Reaching out for the hand he’s offered, she realizes as she stands up just how drunk she really is and how much he towers over her, even in her heels. Rey blushes again as he centers a hand against the small of her back to keep her from teetering over as they head back to the bar.

She leans against his side as he pays, focusing on the pattern of the bartop in an attempt to stop her head from spinning. He wraps an arm around her shoulder to pull her away, guiding them toward the door.

The cool night air helps clear her head, if only a little. Rey starts to head left, to the metro, but he pulls her right. Confused, she frowns up; he takes one look at her expression and laughs. His laugh is nice, she thinks. Hearty. “Let me drive you. Please?”

“Since you said please,” she says with a toss of her hair. She’s trying to be cute. He smiles, but doesn’t respond, and she wonders of that was stupid. She glances at him once again and the smile’s gone. She frowns. They stop walking. She glances up.

“Holy shit.” His car probably costs more than her entire college tuition, she realizes. Holy shit. Holy shit. He opens the door and she slides in carefully - it’s too nice to touch. People don’t drive cars like this, people save their whole lives to put these trophies in their garage. He walks to the driver’s side door and she gawks. “Are you a doctor or something? A lawyer?”

He smiles as he starts the engine - he likes that she’s impressed? - and shakes his head. “My family owns a vineyard.” She raises her eyebrows and blinks at him, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

Fancy. Old money. Nothing like what she was used to.

He turns on the heat and fiddles with the radio before glancing at her sideways, hands on the wheel. “So, where’s this hostel?”

She gives him directions, and as the car pulls into the road, her stomach lurches. With a groan, she leans over, forehead pressed to knees. A moment later, his hand, heavy and warm, is on her back. She focuses on the feeling: back and forth, back and forth. Slow.

He’s probably worried she’ll puke in his nice car.

“Close your eyes and focus on breathing. It helps.” She doesn’t know what else to do, since she really doesn’t want to puke in his nice car. It feels nice, the warm air, his hand on her back, some classical music on the radio real low.

For a moment, she thinks that they’ve been driving for too long: they must’ve made it back to the hostel by now? But she’s drunk, and she’s tired, and she knows he would’ve let her know when they made it. Sleep takes her before she can think anything else.


	2. They're multiplying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insider secret: i 100% watched adam's SNL coffee shop skit for ItalianKylo inspiration, nobody mention domenico's or bk joe to this man
> 
> also!! sorry for so little kylo in this chapter. it'll start picking up in the next one.

It’s a pounding headache that drags her into consciousness, though she fights it tooth and nail. With a groan, she rolls over, pulling the blankets up and over her head to block the light streaming in from the windows, which had threatened to blind her when she dared crack open her eyes. 

But her hostel definitely didn’t have a comforter like this, and the sheets are way less scratchy than she remembered them being the night before. 

Taking a deep breath, she pulls the blanket down beneath one eye, opening it as much as she dared before waiting for her vision to adjust. A large room with beautiful windows. Expensive-looking dressing on the bed. Dark wooden furniture. One thing’s for sure: this isn’t her room at the hostel.

She must’ve gone home with the man from last night. Ugh.

Rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms, Rey grimaces at the makeup that’s smeared across them (and doubtlessly beneath her eyes, too) when she pulls her hands away. Pushing herself up, she glances around the room again. Nicest room she might have ever been in, but kinda formal. Her eyes fall on the glass of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand and she smiles. Thoughtful of him.

The water’s chugged and the pain relievers more than welcome before she slips out from beneath the sheets. Her dress from the night before lies in a puddle of slinky fabric on the ground by her feet, and her heels are placed neatly by the foot of the bed. 

The last memory she has of the night before is him asking if she’d like another drink, so Rey can only assume he undressed her before helping her into bed. And made sure she took her shoes off. Thoughtful.

She starts to circle the room, looking at the art hung on the wall (tasteful), the decorations on the desk (impersonal), and coming to a stop in front of the bookshelf. Several titles written by one Kylo Ren, which feels familiar now that she turns the name over in her mind a few times. 

Going home with a man when she’d temporarily forgotten her name… not drunk Rey’s finest moment, she thinks with a shake of the head. Reaching up, she pulls one of the books from the shelf. _Stick the Landing: Getting a Concept off the Ground_. Hm. Not something she’d pick up from the library, but good for him. She flips it open, tracing his photo on the inside of the jacket. He hadn’t mentioned being a published author.

Or maybe he had, and she’d just forgotten. She snaps the book shut and slides it back into place on the bookshelf, stretches her arms above her head and sighs. Rome was fun, but it’s really time she get going. She wasn’t sure how late she’d slept, but her alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so it can’t be too late.

Speaking of… she walks to the side of the bed and pushes her dress with her foot, hoping to find her phone dropped beneath it. When it reveals more hardwood flooring, she frowns, peeling back the sheets on the bed. Nothing. Fuck. Did she lose her phone last night? She didn’t have the funds to replace it - if she had, she would have fixed that shattered screen a long time ago.

There was a lot she doesn’t remember from the night before, though. Maybe she didn’t lose it. Maybe she just… put it down somewhere. She’ll ask Kylo about it.

Rey slips back into her dress - a walk of shame isn’t her favorite way to start the day, but it’s not like she brought a change of clothes with her to the bar last night - and wishes she had some gum as she picks up her heels heads for the door.

And it doesn’t open.

For a moment, she thinks it’s jammed; she frowns, dropping her shoes to the floor with a clatter, and uses the entirety of her body weight to jiggle the handle. The knob doesn’t even turn, though. “Hey!” She slaps against the door, flat-palmed and loud enough that she knows it must be echoing through the halls. “What the fuck?” It’s shouted as an accusation, but nobody responds.

Pushing her hands through her hair, she turns to face the room. Think, Rey. Think. She moves to the window and her jaw drops.

Countryside, as far as the eye can see. There were mountains in the distance, the ground sprouting up thick, orderly rows of well-manicured greenery. 

This isn’t Rome. If she’s being totally honest with herself, she’s got no way of knowing if this is even Italy. 

She uses both hands to try to push the window open with no luck. There’s no lock for her to fiddle with, either: it’s like they’re not designed to open. Sweat prickles the back of her neck as desperation sets in. She has to get out of this fucking room. She thinks about taking the desk chair to the window, but she’s at least two stories up - maybe more - so that wouldn’t do her much good, unless she wants to break her neck.

Besides… once she gets outside, where will she go? She doesn’t know where she is, how far away any sort of neighbors are, or how to speak Italian. She can’t see any houses from this window, either. Just a single long, winding road that disappears over a hill.

She is, in a word, totally fucked, but there’s nothing she can do about it from in here. A stupid, optimistic part of her hopes that maybe there’s some easy explanation for all of this. That it’s some big misunderstanding.

And all she can do is wait. 

Her feet drag her, heavy as ever, back to the bookcase. Rey browses the titles, trying to keep herself calm. There’s still a lot she doesn’t know. There’s a chance that this could be fine. But she’s always trusted her gut, and the way that tears prick hot in the corners of her eyes and her stomach twists in knots? She doesn’t think that’s the hangover.

Plucking the least boring looking book from its place on the shelf, she settles in on top of the bed. As she reads, she finds herself chewing nervously at her bottom lip; every sound in the house has her jumping to attention, ready to demand answers, and feeling very embarrassed when it turns out to just be the house settling.

The air around her turns from clear to golden as the sun lowers itself into the horizon. She hasn’t gotten far in the book… instead of reading, she finds herself staring out the window, running her fingers over the corners of the pages. 

She’s definitely missed her flight, and she almost has time to be mad about that when she sees a car she almost thinks she remembers making its way up that single winding road.

The book is flung to the ground without a second thought as she slides off the mattress, pacing hurriedly back and forth as she practices what she thinks she’ll say to him. Holy shit, what will she say to him? What is there to be said? Does she demand answers? Give him the benefit of the doubt? Her heartbeat races in her chest, the pace doubling when she hears a heavy thud that could only be the front door opening and closing.

But she hears his footsteps approaching the bedroom door and her breath catches in her chest, and she’s suddenly worried she won’t be able to say anything at all. Her mouth is dry. There’s a click on the other side of the door and it swings open, and there he is - looking just as she’d remembered, all tall and dark and well dressed.

He scans the room silently as she stands there, her stance defensive, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to muster the words that sum up how she feels. As she tries to decide whether or not to make the accusation.

“Hm.” His voice surprises her, because she doesn’t remember it sounding quite so strong. “I really expected you might make more of a mess while I was away.” He’s pleased with her, she thinks, and that makes her stomach churn with the implication:

He locked her in on purpose.


	3. And I'm losing control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so if u will note, i added a humiliation tag! if that kind of thing doesn't bother u and u don't want anything spoiled, read on and stop reading this note! if you are worried it will be something that upsets you, tho, here is the nitty gritty:
> 
> it involves pee but not necessarily water sports which is why i didnt tag it as such
> 
> happy reading!

Rey is at a loss for words, so she acts instead. 

She isn’t sure what she expected to happen when she lunged at him, but he doesn’t move. It’s hardly surprising, considering he’s taller, stronger, bigger. She might as well be trying to burst through the wall and into the hallway just on the other side: it isn’t going to happen.

She keeps going anyway, striking with closed fists - his face, his chest, his arms, anything she can reach - as she snarls like a feral animal. She’s more terrified and desperate than she’s ever been in her life.

He, on the other hand, seems cooler than ever. She hates him. She hates him. 

Calmly, he leans back at the waist and reaches out to grab one wrist, then the other. His hands are _huge_ , and when she tries to rip herself free from his grasp, he holds steady. She throws herself backward with a distraught wail, trying to make gravity do the work for her, but all she gets is something like Indian sunburn from where her skin twists beneath his fingers.

Her chest heaves. He lets her catch her breath. That’s polite of him, she figures. He might be fucked up, but at least he’s kind of a gentleman, right?

“Have you calmed down?”

She huffs, brows pulling together indignantly as she glares at him. “No.” Asshole. To prove her point, she starts to kick him in the shins for good measure. He sighs like the tired parent of an untamed toddler and lets go of her wrists to grab her around the waist, hoisting her up into the air and stepping into the room to toss her onto the mattress. It’s a dumbass mistake, she thinks, to leave her arms and legs free. She flails, managing to get a knee to his stomach and dig her nails into his cheek before he can pin her down again.

Rey writhes against him, but Jesus Christ is he ever fucking heavy. She settles for scowling, twisting her head away from him to stare out the window. He leans in, wearing that same spicy cologne from the night before. She liked it the night before. Now it feels suffocating.

“I understand that you’re adjusting.” He’s seething, and she can’t decide if she’s proud or terrified. “So I’ll forgive your tantrum there.” He pauses, and she squirms as his breath tickles her ear. “You’d do well to remember your manners.”

She can’t think of anything to say, and this time, she figures maybe it’s best to stay quiet. She keeps staring out the window, her breathing finally starting to slow. 

There’s a heavy pause in the air. “Look at me when I speak to you.”

Her breath catches in her throat. No one has ever spoken to her so coldly. She forces herself to take a deep breath and keeps looking out the window. 

He grips her jaw and she flinches, straining to keep her head twisted away. Stubborn til the end, she doesn’t want to give in. She doesn’t want to give him what he wants. Rey can’t fight him off forever, though, and eventually he wins, squeezing her cheeks together hard enough that she cries out.

Something hot and hard and insistent presses against her thigh, and her eyes widen. Oh, God. Oh, God. This is turning him on. She acts on instinct and spits.

It lands on his face, thick and shiny, and he freezes. His hand moves from her jaw to his cheek, his breath too even and controlled - like he’s trying to keep himself from flying off the handle - as he wipes her spit away. _Fuck,_ she thinks. _I’m going to die here. I’m twenty-two years old, and I’m going to die in some thirty year old creep’s home in the middle of Italy, surrounded by nice sheets and the scent of fancy cologne._

But he surprises her, climbing off the bed instead and leaving the bedroom without a word. The way he moves makes her nervous - purposeful and smooth, powerful. Like a panther that’s caught sight of its prey. 

The moment he’s out of sight, she scrambles off the mattress and through the door. Rey realizes, all at once, that she doesn’t remember a damn thing about this house - the interior doesn’t look familiar to her, and she has no idea which direction the door’s in. She’s wasting time every second that she sits there trying to decide, and she knows it, so she takes off in the opposite direction than he’d gone. 

And one hell of a lot of good it does her: she rounds the corner and there he is, rope slung over his shoulder. And not that fun rope she and her best friend back home, Rose, had giggled about in the sex shop, either. Turning on her heel, she sprints on the other direction, screaming for help.

If only his legs weren’t damn near twice as long as hers.

She can hear him thundering after her, and all the wind leaves her chest as a large hand plants firmly against her back, shoving her into the wall just as she reaches another corner. Rey wheezes as he collides into her, pinning her there with his body weight and swearing under his breath as the force of them knocks a framed photo off the wall.

Kylo hoists her over his shoulder and heads back to the room. She screams and pounds against his back with small fists, kicking her legs until he wraps an arm around them. Rey is thrown back down onto the bed with enough force that she’s winded again, gasping for air as he sets to work: one wrist to the headboard, then the other. She shrieks for help.

He laughs.

“Nobody is going to hear you here, mi cucciolo.” 

Rey shrieks anyway, kicking her legs as she does, if only to be an annoyance. She’ll scream until her voice gives out. She doesn’t fucking care. She watches with suspicious eyes as he walks around the edge of the bed, staring out the window. 

“Beautiful day outside.” He stands there for a moment longer before sliding his hands in his pockets, turning to face her. “Next time, think before you’re tempted to act like an animal.”

And he leaves.

She keeps screaming until her voice is raspy and her throat is raw. The sun sets beneath the horizon, and even the glow of dawn disappears. At one point, she can smell him cooking something, and her stomach growls desperately, but he never comes for her. She hears him watching something on TV in another room, but the volume is turned too low for her to hear it, and she can’t even see the shine of the screen.

Eventually, after what felt like hours (why doesn’t he have a clock in this room? Was that done on purpose?), she can hear him coming down the hall. Rey jerks against the restraints when she sees him walk past the open door, illuminated by the glow of his phone. “Kylo?”

He stops, but doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. She waits to be acknowledged, but when he still says nothing, she cautiously makes her request. “I have to pee.”

He taps out a message on his phone, still not looking up at her. He has the keyboard sounds turned on. She feels like each click is going to drive her crazy.

“No one is stopping you, hm?” He pockets his phone and walks off. Her cheeks burn in the dark, and she hears a door - his bedroom door? - close.

By the end of the night, she’s proud of herself: she holds off on crying for longer than she’d thought she could, until she wakes up embarrassed in wet sheets for the first time since she was a little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehehe


	4. 'Cause the power you're supplying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh I probably won't be able to update tmrw which physically pains me because i'm having the time of my life writing this

She wakes up a second time to a growling stomach and the smell of bacon frying behind the strange, salty smell coming off the bed and her thighs that she’s trying her hardest to ignore. Everything has mostly dried, which was a small blessing, but she’ll be thankful when he lets her loose.

But time ticks by, and besides his whistling as he cooks, he doesn’t come for her.

Rey tries to tell herself that it’s not like he’s going to leave her here forever - that seems weird, to go through all this trouble just to leave a girl to starve to death, covered in her own pee. That can’t be a thing that people do, can it?

And then he walks by without so much as stopping by the doorway or glancing her direction, and she realizes that while it’s weird, there’s probably someone into that sort of thing, somewhere. Maybe here. Hopefully not… but maybe.

He passes by the door frame again, and she can see that he’s still in his pajamas. It’s the first time she’s seen him wearing something _normal_ looking and not those nice shirts and trousers and shiny shoes from the past two days. He’s either staying home today, or it’s too early for him to have to go do… well, whatever it is vineyard heirs and published authors do all day. She realizes she doesn’t have a fucking clue where he goes or what kind of schedule he’s on.

The next time he passes by, he’s dressed. Her heart sinks: he’s leaving, and he hasn’t even acknowledged her, let alone took the time to untie her. Or feed her. Or offer her some water. The glass of water from the day before is still on the nightstand, taunting her.

She’s getting nervous. When he passes by again, tapping away on his phone once more, she’s ready.

“Aren’t you going to let me up?” She’s not going to try the ‘I have to pee’ excuse again. It didn’t work out for her last time.

But this doesn’t work, either. He doesn’t even stop, just keeps on walking by. Rey hears a heavy door shift open, and, for a second, birds. It slams shut. A lock clicks.

No more birds.

She screams for a _while_ , frustrated and hungry and stiff from being tied up for so long. She strains against the rope until it rubs her wrists raw.

The day oozes by, and she waits. Not that she has much of a choice. Her stomach growls and her mouth is dry and, at some point, she starts humming to herself just to keep busy. Each second feels like an hour, and she has no idea how long she lies there before she finally hears the front door open again.

Rey finds herself holding her breath, waiting for him to come by. She’s surprised by the relief she feels when she sees him. The excitement. He leans against the door frame, looking at her, and she feels hopeful for the first time all day.

“Are you going to behave?”

She nods without a second thought, shifting where she lies on the mattress. She wants to get up. She’d do anything to get up.

He steps into the room and her heart pounds with anticipation as he takes his sweet, sweet time untying her wrists. Kylo steps back to give her room to stretch her arms, watching with a bored expression as she rubs the red, angry skin on her wrists.

“Take off your dress.” She blinks, dumbfounded, and he snaps his fingers, an eyebrow raised. “Panties, too. Put them on the bed.” 

Hardly in a position to refuse, she unzips her dress and slips out of it, letting the slinky fabric pool around her ankles as she peels her underwear down her thighs. A blush, bright with embarrassment, blooms across her cheeks as she carefully squats down to pick them up off the floor before tossing them onto the soiled sheets.

Kylo steps forward, then, hardly even looking as she crosses her arms across herself. He makes quick work of stripping the sheets, her clothing wrapped up inside of them, and he holds the bundle of fabric pointedly away from his body as he turns away from her and starts to head out into the hall once more.

“Come with me.” She does, scrambling to follow.

It’s weird, really. He’s dressed nicely, the sleeves of his button down rolled up, slacks pleated nicely, shoes clicking on the hardwood. She’s following behind awkwardly, trying to cover as much of herself as she can. He stops suddenly, and she nearly runs into his back as he turns to open a closet and drop the sheets and her clothes in the washing machine. 

He takes off once more and she follows, head swivelling from side to side as she tries to commit as much of what she’s seeing to memory as she can. He opens a door to their right and holds it for her, guiding her into what’s definitely the largest bathroom she’s ever seen.

Rey gawks, toes curling to feel the cool marble beneath her. He nods towards the shower and she shuffles, uncertain, toward the glass door. It’s a ridiculous shower, really; glass runs from one side of the bathroom to the other, splitting the room in two. On the other side is a huge bathtub and the sort of shower head that comes directly out of the ceiling. She’d think he was showing off, if she didn’t think he was used to this sort of thing.

Walking to the farthest wall, she twists the faucet. Hot water streams down, and she steps backward, into the spray, closing her eyes as it soaks through her hair, running down her back and washing away the gross feeling she had.

Opening her eyes, she jumps to see him naked, too, now, stepping into the shower with her. She backs up until she feels the faucet pressing into her spine.

He just laughs. “I’m not going to fuck you now. You’re filthy.” Somehow, that doesn’t make her feel better.

She just watches as he reaches for the soap, scrubbing himself down before gesturing for her to come closer. When Rey doesn’t, he reaches out, pulling her over roughly with a vice-like grip on her upper arm that makes her wince. He washes her the same way: quick and methodical. Shampoo next. Rey stands there, facing away from him as he scrubs her scalp, staring at the wall.

He tugs her out of the shower when he decides they’re clean enough, wraps her in a fluffy towel, and drags her back down the hall to the bedroom. She’s given a pair of pajamas, which are too big, shirt well past her thighs and the plaid drawstring pants bunching ‘round her ankles. He drags her to the kitchen, where he starts preparing what must be dinner, since the clock reads 5 pm.

She sits on the counter and watches, her stomach churning the whole time. She’s fucking _hungry_ , but she’s nervous, too, and the combination makes her feel like she’s going to be sick. 

He roots through the cabinets, humming a song she doesn’t recognize, his hair still wet. FInally, he turns around with two bowls, which he places on either end of the table. Rey thinks about refusing, but her stomach growls, so she reluctantly slides off the counter and moves to take her seat. 

Some rice dish she doesn’t recognize waits for her, but it smells good. She pushes it around with her fork for a while before taking a bite.

It’s good.

Like, really good.

Most of the meal is silent, her trying to decide if she feels brave enough to speak and him on his phone pretty much the whole time. Some business thing, she figures, but she’s got no idea. He could have a girlfriend or something. That would make it more fucked up, but she’s not about to draw limits for him.

She puts her fork down and clears her throat. He doesn’t look up. She decides to go for it, anyway.

“How long am I going to be here?” He looks up, finally, and she holds his gaze for as long as she can before looking back down at the last few bites of uneaten food. Right. That’s answer enough.

She’s lost her appetite, so she twists her fork absentmindedly instead. He goes back to his phone, but she’s not done yet. “What happens when you get tired of me?”

There’s a long pause before he looks up again, and this time, he does speak.

“If you behave, I’ll have no reason to get tired of you.” She swallows hard. That’s a threat. He might not have said it, but it’s a fucking threat. 

She’s going to die in this house, she just doesn’t know when.

The realization sinks in slowly. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she tries to hold them in, but it’s not long before she sniffles, a fat tear spilling onto her cheek. She hates this, but she can’t stop it. 

Kylo sees her tears and she watches him visibly soften, a smile finding its way to his face for the first time that day. Like this is what he’d wanted to see all day. Her stomach twists again as she chokes back a sob, which causes him to scoot his chair back and come around to her side, pulling her wrist gently to get her out of the chair and pressed into his chest.

One of his huge hands smooths over the back of her head as he speaks to her, cooing in Italian. It doesn’t help. She’s got no idea what he’s saying, she feels fucking smothered by his giant embrace, and - the straw that breaks the camel’s back - she can feel him getting turned on by the whole situation.

With no other choice, she breaks down in his arms. He strokes her hair and keeps murmuring words she doesn’t understand in her ear.


	5. Is electrifying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS NONCON IN THIS CHAPTER AND A THREAT OF VIOLENCE
> 
> thanks for reading my warnings, continue at ur own risk

Eventually, Rey runs out of tears.

It was bound to happen. She hasn’t had anything to drink since the day before, and even if she had, you can only cry for so long. Her face feels tacky and tight from dried tears, and she’s sore - her chest heaves painfully, and it feels like somebody’s given her two black eyes. She’s sure they’re horribly swollen. 

She gets the hiccups.

Kylo pulls back, a hand on each of her shoulders and dark eyes soft as they search her face. There’s something oddly affectionate like this, she thinks. He like prefers her this way, fragile and barely held together. It makes her nervous: her emotional state is an open wound. If he wants, he can wait around to pick off the fresh scabs when they form, and she’ll never heal. She can’t let that happen. She can’t.

He moves to swipe a thumb across her cheek, smearing the dried tear tracks gently and drawing her out of her head, back into reality. 

“Can I have some water?” Her voice is low and cracked from the tears. She hates it, wishes desperately that she could erase any sort of evidence of the meltdown she’d just had, just to take it away from him.

He nods, but doesn’t step away, instead cupping her chin. She wonders if he forgot already. She wonders if it would be a mistake to ask again.

Thankfully, he moves toward the sink after another moment. The very second his back is turned, she lets out a sigh of relief, careful to keep it silent. Rey composes herself by the time he turns around, a full glass in hand. She takes it eagerly, downing the contents in a few large gulps. “My thirsty girl,” he hums. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and holds the cup out before her.

She wants more, but she doesn’t want to ask for too many favors. She wonders how damaged she must be already, to consider a second glass of water a favor. He plucks it from her grasp and sets it on the table. Rey protests (despite herself), glancing at the empty cup over her shoulder as he gently pushes her out of the dining room and back into the hallway.

“How are you feeling, micina?” Her head swivels left and right as they move through the hallway, trying once again to catch a glimpse of the door - or even a set of stairs - but he keeps pushing her along. If she doesn’t keep moving, she’ll stumble and fall.

“Better.” She’d had food, water, and a shower. That always helped things.

He stops pushing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging back until her neck is craned, crown of her head pressed into his chest as she’s suddenly looking at him. “Manners.” His voice is low, and she’s not used to being scolded. Her cheeks burn bright red.

“Better… thank you?” She thinks that’s what he wants - she can’t imagine what else he’d want. He’s apparently satisfied, though, because he lets go of her hair and starts pushing her forward again. 

They pass the room where he’d kept her last night, and she’s relieved until he steers them into his bedroom. Her hands just out immediately, fingers catching the door frame. It only stops them for a moment; one good shove and she’s stumbling into the room. 

She tries to calm herself down. They could be in here for any number of reasons, she tells herself as she spins around to face him. “What are we doing in here?” Her voice sounds fluttery and nervous. Fuck.

“You’re clean now. You’re feeling better.” He shrugs, as though it should be clear. “I can fuck you now.”

Oh, how considerate of him. She makes a face and tries to skirt around him, heading for the door. He catches Rey around the waist and tugs her back with a grunt as she shrieks, clawing at his arm and face. He huffs, scowling, and turns her around, her back to his stomach, bending them both over the edge of his bed and using his weight to pin her. She still doesn’t calm, kicking her legs as she screams.

“Do you need another time out? Maybe I didn’t give you long enough to think.” She freezes, goosebumps prickling up on her arms at the feel of his breath in her ear and the thought of him leaving her alone for _longer_. “Hm?” He prompts her for an answer, and she swallows hard and shakes her head.

Kylo waits a minute, as though he’s watching to see if she’ll start up again. She hates him. She hates him. She stays as still as she can, screwing her eyes shut. 

“That’s what I thought.”

His hands slip up the back of the comically large shirt she’s wearing, pushing it up above her waist. One tug and the too-large pajama pants he’d given her to wear drop around her ankles.

She bites her lip to keep quiet, but whimpers when she hears him spit into his hand, feeling him reach down to release himself from his pants. He shushes her. “I haven’t even touched you yet.” His voice is matter-of-fact, distracted, even, and she thinks she can feel him give his length a few quick tugs.

It doesn’t take long for that to change.

Even with his spit as lube, it burns. His body weight keeps her held down as he presses into her, and she cries out as his cock conquers inch after inch of unyielding flesh. He groans into her ear, and Rey presses her face into the mattress. She imagines she’s somewhere else. She imagines she’s back home with her friends. He bottoms out inside of her and her hands clench into fists as her body struggles to accommodate him. He’s big. He’d be big even if she was ready for it - and she’s not.

“You’re okay.” He thrusts into her, slow and lazy, his breathing labored. “You’re okay.” He keeps saying it, and she wonders if he thinks that makes it true.

She’s not okay. Tears well up again as he grabs her hip, swearing in Italian under his breath, and the lewd, slick sound of their bodies colliding fills the room. She forces herself to go somewhere else. Anywhere else, if it meant not being here.

He uses her, anyway, his fingers threading through her hair not to pull, but to hold her there. His forehead presses against the back of her skull. She focuses on curling and uncurling her toes.

His pace reaches a fever pitch and she braces herself - but he pulls out, much to her surprise. She tries not to flinch at the sound of him finishing himself off, or the feeling of his cum as it lands on her ass. 

She listens as he catches his breath and listens as he walks away. She doesn’t move. He comes back not much later, and she flinches again when she feels a towel, soft as it is, when he cleans her up. Kylo pulls up her pants and rubs her back for a moment before reaching down to hoist her into the bed, climbing in behind her, pulling her flush against him and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“If you ever try to leave,” he murmurs into her hair, “I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

I already wish I were dead, she thinks. Joke’s on you. It takes her hours to fall asleep.

When she wakes up, she’s alone. The bedroom door is locked, but at least she’s not tied down this time. Rey pushes her fingers through her hair and glances over to see a glass bottle of cherry Coke on the nightstand and a sticky note with a smiley face scrawled on it.

Cherry coke isn’t even sold in Italy. She has no idea where he got it, let alone in a glass bottle.

It’s a nice gesture. It makes her homesick. Overwhelmed by emotions, she sits on the bed and cries.


	6. You better shape up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeeeeee

He isn’t gone for quite as long this time. 

Then again, she thinks, it might just feel this way because now she’s dreading his return. Rey showers in the en suite bathroom, trying to forget the feeling of his cum on her back, scrubbing until her skin is red and raw and angry. Kylo is there when she steps out, and she stops using the towel to try her hair and instead covers her nakedness.

It doesn’t make any sense to be shy - he’s seen her naked already - but it’s all she can think to do. It feels good to be in control of what he can see.

He’s frowning, untouched bottle of cherry Coke in hand. “You don’t appreciate my gift to you?”

Her skin prickles and she shakes her head as fast as she can, scrambling for some kind of excuse. Truth be told, the smiley face sticky note gave her the fucking creeps, but she doesn’t want to make him angry. “I was saving it until I got thirsty.”

She can’t tell, from the look on his face, if he believes her. He sets the bottle down where he found it and stalks out of the room, down the hallway, leaving her standing there. Rey lets out a shaky breath. That went well. She thinks.

Even small victories are cause for relief.

He hasn’t come back by the time she’s dressed herself back in the pajamas he gave her yesterday. She doesn’t know _where_ he is. Nervously, she sticks her head out into the hallway, half expecting him to be waiting to pounce… but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Rey already knows the way to the kitchen, so she heads the other direction, figuring she can take the opportunity to explore, at the very least.

His house is the kind of house she remembers being in once in foster care: so nice she was scared to touch anything for fear she might break it. Now, she wouldn’t think she’d care so much if she broke something fancy and antique. He’d deserve it.

Don’t want broken vases? Don’t hold girls hostage in your house. 

It seems simple, but she realizes she’s too scared of how he might react to actually do it. She stares at the vase for another minute before moving on.

The house is bigger than she thought, too, she realizes as she passes by some stairs. She hasn’t been upstairs yet - or, at least, not that she can remember - and she makes note to check that out later. She needs to stay on the ground floor if she wants to find the front door.

“Amore mio,” she hears him calling from somewhere behind her. “Where are you?” She doesn’t answer, heading away from the sound of his voice. She wonders how big the house is, and if he’ll believe her if she says she didn’t hear him.

Twisting around corner after corner, she stops dead in her tracks when she sees it - beautiful red wood and wrought iron fixtures. She hadn’t expected to actually find the front door, and didn’t think about what she’d do when she did. Chewing her lower lip, she steps forward carefully, as though it’s a trap. No alarms sound. She reaches out for the handle, and nothing shocks or burns her.

But, of course, it’s locked. She stands there, staring intently at the handle as she pushes it down, over and over again.

“There you are.” His voice is smooth and charming, but she still jumps when she sees him standing there - he sounds amused. She wonders if that was fun for him, watching her try the clearly-locked front door over and over again. 

He holds out an arm, large hand extended. “Come. I made lunch.”

Rey swallows the lump in her throat and takes a deep breath to keep her hand from shaking as she reaches out to take his.

Kylo leads her to the living room, which seems vaguely familiar. The memories are in bits and pieces, and she knows she must’ve been in this room the night he brought her back. There’s two bowls of soup on the table beside the couch, and her stomach growls loudly as she watches him take a seat.

Figuring there’s no use fighting him _and_ hunger, she follows. When she has one knee on the couch, he presses a hand into her stomach, forcing her to stand back up. “Ah, ah, ah. You still haven’t thanked me for my gift.”

Her cheeks suck in indignantly, her lips pursing. He turns on the TV and grabs his bowl of soup. She’s fucking hungry. “Thank you.” She spits the words out, like they taste foul, and he doesn’t look away from whatever show he’s watching. Her hands curl in and out of fists as she shifts her weight, frustrated. Rey knows what he wants - she just doesn’t want to give it to him.

But she’s fucking hungry.

“Thank you for the gift. It was very kind of you.” She feels the back of her neck prickle as she lies through her teeth to tell him what he wants to hear.

After a long pause, he glances at her, a smile on his lips. She chews the inside of her cheek as she waits for him to give his approval.

“You’re welcome.” She nods, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. He shifts where he’s sitting on the couch, uncrossing his ankle from his knee and spreading his feet apart to make room on the floor. “Sit.”

Her nose wrinkles, but when he leans over with his free hand to grab her bowl of soup, she figures that making her sit on the floor isn’t the worst thing he’s done to her so far, and it’s definitely not the worst thing he _could_ do. Her cheeks burn as she lowers herself to the floor, not looking him in the eye as she settles and thankful to turn around and press her back to the couch once she’s seated.

It’s alright when she can’t see him. Almost.

They sit like that for a while. She figures he’s watching the show; she doesn’t speak enough Italian to understand what’s going on, so she’s lost in her thoughts. At one point, after the bowls have been set aside, she feels his fingers winding through her hair. Her back stiffens, but she doesn’t dare turn around. She can’t look at him and feel brave at the same time.

“Will the door always be locked?” She tries to force herself to relax, focusing on each tensed muscle and trying to soften it.

“Mhm.” He’s practically drawling, now; it sounds like he’s only half paying attention. 

“And the windows?”

“I’m in a good mood, cara. Don’t spoil it with stupid questions you can answer yourself.”

She toys with the hem of the t-shirt she’s wearing. He’s right; as crazy as he is, she isn’t sure when he’ll snap. She needs to ask important questions first. She needs to get to the point. “What happens if there’s a fire and you’re not here? Or some kind of medical emergency emergency?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Rey tips her head back, resting it on the couch cushion to try to get a look at him. His eyes haven’t left the television screen, and his fingers aren’t twirling her hair. He isn’t deciding how to answer that question, and she hasn’t stumped him; he’s distracted. 

“You should hope that does not happen.”

It’s far from the answer she had been hoping for. She slumps down, facing forward again, but he taps her on the shoulders. “Bad posture will ruin your spine. Sit straight.”

She huffs, crossing her arms and slouching even further until she’s lying flat on the ground. She watches as he shifts forward in his seat, eyebrows raised in question - _really?_ , he seems to be asking.

He doesn’t say anything, which makes her feel emboldened. Her gaze drifts from his face to his dress shirt, loosened tie and slacks, then to her own plaid-pajama’d legs. “I’ll need real clothes, you know.”

Kylo sighs, glancing up at the TV one more time before his dark eyes fall back to her. “Fine. Go to your room.”

It feels wrong - she shouldn’t feel like she’s winning. She’s _not_ winning, as long as she’s here. But it’s hard to tamp down that gloaty feeling rising in her chest as she stands, leading him to the room where he’d raped her less than twenty-four hours ago so he can lock her inside while he goes to buy her clothes.

Rey watches as his car drives away before she turns to scan the room. There it is: the glass bottle of Coke. His gift to her. His apology? She picks it up in her hands, throwing away the creepy sticky note.

She hadn’t seen any knives in the kitchen when he’d cooked for her. He must have put them away. So why would he leave her a glass bottle?

He must be a fucking idiot. Twisting the lid off, she heads to the bathroom and dumps the contents in the sink - wasteful, but it’s warm now, anyway - and holds it by the neck. It’s hard, because she’s never broken something on _purpose_ before, but she covers her eyes and shatters it against the marble countertop. Glass shards skitter across the bathroom floor, and she feels a few bite into the skin of her bare feet as she carefully picks her way back into the bedroom, but she doesn’t care.

It’s sharp and pointy, and it will do the job just fine.


	7. 'Cause you need a man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look.... this does not go well for her. if you don't want to read about a painful punishment, skip this chapter. i added some tags - if you want to avoid spoilers and aren't worried you'll be triggered by the content, don't look, but if you want to make sure you'll be okay, read them, please.

She picks the little shards of glass out of her feet, talking herself out of the plan and back into the plan at least five times before she hears his car pull into the driveway.

Rey doesn’t go to the window to check. If she can see him, there’s a chance he could look up and see her. If he sees her, she doesn’t know if he’ll be able to tell something is up.

He’s smart, and between the two of them, he’s got her poker face beat.

What she has to do is obvious, but how she does it is less clear, and she can’t settle on a plan. All she knows is that she has to kill him; she’s only getting one shot, and if she doesn’t make it serious enough, she won’t have any time to find the key for the front door. 

At first, she stands, arms behind her back, but she feels like it’s too obvious. His footsteps are approaching, and she looks around wildly before sitting on the bed, bottleneck tucked underneath a section of bunched up sheets. It isn’t ideal, but it’s the best she’s got for the time being.

He stands outside of the door for a moment before she hears the lock click. She strains her ears for the jangling of keys, but hears nothing. Weird.

The door swings open and there’s Kylo, a bunch of brightly-colored bags in one hand, all ribbon handles and tissue paper poking out the tops. Rey forces a smile. He just stares.

Shit. Can he tell something is wrong?

“I looked at the tag of your dress. Everything should fit.” She lets out a sigh of relief as he steps into the room, bending over to place the bags on the ground. “If something doesn’t, I’ll replace it.”

She nods, even though she knows it won’t matter soon enough. Her skin crawls with anxiety, her heart beating so hard that she can feel the pulse in her neck tick, tick, ticking. He takes another step toward her, hands in his pockets, scanning the room. She sees his eyes narrow and follows his gaze to a tiny smear of blood on the floor. Fuck. She hadn’t thought about that - of course her cut feet would’ve tracked blood in from the bathroom.

There isn’t any time to waste. While he’s not looking at her, she slips off the bed, lunging for his throat.

It all happens in a matter of seconds; Rey doesn’t even _think_ while she moves, just acts, pushing the broken glass as hard and as far as she can, her eyes closing as she feels skin beneath it, resistant. She pushes through it until she can’t push anymore.

Her eyes open as she stumbles backwards. She got him, alright - but she must have been too far away, because he had time to draw his hands from his pockets, but not quite enough time to grab her wrists.

Instead, he’d done what she figures any sane person would have done and put his hands up to protect himself. The bottleneck bit into his palm, but the longest, skinniest jagged piece had pierced clean through, poking out of the back of his hand. The world seems to move in slow motion as she darts around him, their eyes meeting for a split second - and he looks about as surprised as she feels.

If she had any longer, she’d take some time to feel proud that she caught him off guard, but she doesn’t, so she skirts into the hallway and tries to remember the way to the front door. Rey hears him howling in pain, but doesn’t turn to see what he’s doing; she figures it out soon enough as she approaches the corner and the bloodied bottleneck whizzes just centimeters past her ear, bursting on the wall in front of her.

Rey takes a sharp left, feeling a few shards of glass bounce off her as she goes. Forget the door; it’s locked and she doesn’t have time. She’ll settle for a window that’s not sealed shut. She doesn’t know what she’ll do when she gets outside, but she’ll worry about that later. 

After three more turns, she stills for a second, realizing she can’t hear the sound of him running. Adrenaline courses through her body, and she claps a hand over her mouth in an attempt to get her breathing under control, but she can’t hear him coming after her.

Somehow, that’s worse. She’d prefer to hear him thundering down the hall.

At least then she’d know where he was. 

Nerves start to set in, and presses her back against the wall for a moment. Still nothing. Slowly, she heads down the hall, looking back over her shoulder every so often. Many of the doors are shut - she can’t risk opening a creaky one and letting him know where she is, if he doesn’t already. So she presses forward until she finds an half-open door.

Turning sideways, she sidles through, not even daring to push it fully open. It’s his office - fancy wooden desk, bookshelves on one wall, and a huge, _huge_ window. Perfect. She walks up, pressing her fingers to the glass - she’s so close to fresh air that she can almost taste it.

She doesn’t see any place to open the window, so the only option she can see is to smash it. The desk chair will work, she’s pretty sure. 

Rey starts to turn around, but freezes when she hears the door hinges squeal. Her heart pounds as she forces herself to turn around… and sure enough, there he is, standing in the door frame with his arms crossed, even though the blood from his hand is staining his sleeve.

She doesn’t move. He doesn’t move. She doesn’t know what to do.

Swallowing hard, she balls her hands into fists to hide the way they’re shaking. He keeps standing there, but raises his eyebrows. If he wants her, she decides, he’ll have to come get her himself. There’s no way she’s walking to him willingly.

He gives her another moment before he sighs and shakes his head, closing the distance between them with long strides. She tries to run around the other side of the desk, but he catches her by the back of her shirt, pulling sharply with enough force to throw her to the ground. Her head bounces off the floor; she’s too dazed to roll away before he can grab her by the hair, her scalp burning as he drags her out of the room.

The shrieks that come out of her mouth don’t even sound human, she thinks. She didn’t know a human could make these noises. Her nails dig into his skin as she claws with both hands at his wrist, her feet squealing against the floor as she digs her heels into the wood.

It doesn’t even seem to slow him down. Tears blur her vision, and she realizes she has no idea where they’re going, no idea what he’s going to do.

All she knows is that he’s definitely going to do _something_. 

They come to a stop and she swipes at her eyes, clearing the tears enough to realize they’re in the kitchen. Kylo releases her hair and she rolls forward onto hands and knees, starting to crawl away before he scoops her up with one strong arm under both of hers, holding her like a rag doll as he crushes her against his ribs.

Her breath catches in her chest as she watches him use his free hand to turn one of the front burners on high, but she doesn’t fully understand until he reaches for the wrist of the hand she’d used to stab him.

Rey screams and shakes her head as she waves her arm wildly, trying to shake herself free, but all she gets is the blood from his palm smeared up and down her hand as they wrestle. Desperation sets in again, and, even though it makes her stomach turn, she presses the fingers of her free hand into the wound on the back of his hand.

He hisses in pain, his arm uncircling from around her chest, and she throws herself to the ground, shoulder popping painfully when she stretches her arm to its limit. “Please! Please, I’m so sorry, please.” She clings to his trousers pitifully, fabric balled in her fist, tears spilling down her face as she _begs_ him not to burn her. She’d do anything if it meant avoiding this; she can feel the heat of the burner radiating out, even though he’s holding her hand nearer his chest than the stove.

Kylo just stares down at her, his jaw clenched and his dark eyes narrowed. He doesn’t answer, and she chokes on her sobs, gasping for breath between each wailing cry.

But then he turns off the burner. Half confused, half relieved, she buries her face against his thigh, unable to stop crying. She feels his free hand work its way into her hair, stroking soothingly against her head before he steps back and kneels down to eye level, her wrist still in his grasp.

“You still have to be punished.” 

His eyes search hers, like he’s waiting for a response, so she nods with a sniffle and a hiccup, wiping her cheeks and nose with the back of her free hand. 

He tightens his grip on her wrist, holding it steady. She doesn’t have time to react as he calmly reaches up and, in one fluid motion, grabs her index finger and bends it backwards - much farther backwards than a finger is supposed to go, she realizes as she hears the snap.

The pain hits before the scream makes it from her chest to her throat, and she leans forward to cradle her wrist in her free hand when he lets go. Through her sobs, she watches him push himself up with a hand on his thigh, examining his hand as he walks out of the room. Taking a few deep breaths between cries, she works up the courage to see what he’s done.

Her finger is already swelling, already turning a bright and angry color that it shouldn’t be. Her stomach turns, a fresh wave of pain rolling over her, and she feels a chill as the world gets grayer, grayer, grayer.

And then everything turns black.


	8. And my heart is set on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise bitch, bet you thought you'd seen the last of this fic!

She comes to in his arms, cradled against his chest so tenderly that it seems wrong.

No, she tells herself. It _is_ wrong. But he’s warm and gentle, and this feels so much better than being scared. She should be scared, though - is she scared? 

It’s hard to tell. Her hand throbs, and she can barely focus on anything else. She makes the mistake of glancing down at her hand where it rests in her lap and her head spins. Rey closes her eyes with a groan, and shivers when she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head.

They head back to the bedroom and, as far as she can tell, it’s like it never happened. Kylo carries her around the corner where he’d thrown the bottle and missed, and all the glass is gone. In the bedroom, the blood has been cleaned off the floor, the sheets look new, and the lemony scent of cleaning products hangs in the air. 

He sets her on the bed with a gentleness that surprises her. She can see as he steps away that he’s changed his shirt and bandaged his hand.

“How long was I out?” Her voice is ragged, throat raw from screaming. 

“Not long enough to cause concern.” Rey watches as he steps into the bathroom, leaving her alone in the room. He knows that she won’t try anything again - and she isn’t sure if it’s because she’s too scared to run, or if she’s just tired.

He returns with medical cloth tape, grabbing a pen from his dresser as he makes his way back to kneel on the ground before her. 

It’d be easy to knee him in the face, but she doesn’t. What’s the point? He’d probably just break another finger, or worse, actually go through with burning her.

She hisses sharply as he takes her hand in his, a fresh wave of pain washing over her as he examines the injury. To his credit, he tries not to hurt her - or, at least, she’s pretty sure he’s trying not to. His hands are careful and delicate, like he’s cradling a newborn baby bird or a butterfly. Something that would be easy to crush if he doesn’t pay mind.

They’re quiet as he tapes her index finger and middle finger together. She doesn’t know what to say, and she can’t tell what he’s thinking. She’s too nervous to ask. Making small talk seems wrong, even if it would fill the uncomfortable silence.

“There.” He pulls back and holds his hands just inches from her wounded one, fingers splayed like a magician who’s just conjured something from thin air. He moves closer, and she thinks he’s going to touch her again, but he pulls back at the last second, pushing himself up with his good hand on his thigh. “It should set just fine. It will hurt, but it will heal.”

But how does he know? How can he be sure? The questions come, but she isn’t about to ask. If she’s stuck here forever, she guesses it doesn’t matter if her hand is ruined.

Rey knows it’s not the right way to think about it, but she can’t help the thoughts that come. 

He holds out a hand to her, and she wastes no time taking it. Kylo tucks her beneath his arm and guides her as they walk down the hall, silent still. She does her best not to think, but the thoughts creep in against her will. This man could have burned her. He could have _killed_ her. She’d tried to kill him. An eye for an eye. This punishment, or even one much worse, would have been fair.

She would have expected any of those things. But he’s being kind to her now. He showed her mercy, and now he’s taking pity on her.

And, if she’s being completely honest with herself, she isn’t sure how she feels about that.

With his arm secured around her shoulders, he leads them to the kitchen. Her stomach drops, the sudden and very real fear that he’s not _finished_ making her heart beat faster in her chest. Had she just jinxed herself? Pushed her luck?

But he just leaves her standing there in the middle of the floor while he goes directly toward the cabinets, whistling to himself.

An empty glass in hand, he turns to head for the sink - and seems surprised to see that she’s still standing there. “Sit.” He turns around, not bothering to see if she obeys.

She sits.

When Kylo turns around, he has a glass of water in one hand and two little pills in the other. He places the drink on the table and curls his fingers around the pills, turning his hand over and holding them out. Rey chews on her lower lip, but holds her good hand out to accept them anyway.

They’re long and white, and when she brings them up to her face, they’re stamped with the word _paracetamol_. That isn’t something she’s ever heard of. 

“It’s like your Advil.” Her face must have betrayed her suspicion. He could always be lying, she thinks, watching as he turns again. He moves easily, opening the freezer and humming to himself as he rummages around. Then again, he didn’t seem like the type to poison her if he’d wanted her dead.

And if she’s wrong, maybe if she’s going to die, death by poison would be a blessing. She doesn’t really know a lot about being poisoned, but it would surely be less painful than getting her bones broken.

When he turns back around, bag of frozen peas in hand, she’s chasing the pills with water. Kylo smiles, and she swears that she can see pride in his eyes. It makes her skin prickle, but she forces herself not to look away. If she could smile, he’d like that, she thinks, but she can’t bring herself to do it.

He holds out the bag of peas, his eyes set intently on hers like he isn’t quite sure what she’ll do. Maybe she’s just as unpredictable to him, she thinks. Maybe that’s good. Or maybe he’s just trying to decide whether or not he’s broken her down enough for his liking.

Carefully, she reaches out to take the bag from him. She knows it’s for her hand, and she knows it will help. The plastic crinkles in the silence as her fingers close around it.

“Thank you.” The words taste wrong as they roll over her tongue. He _did_ this to her; she shouldn’t be thanking him for anything. But she’s only doing what she needs to do to survive, she reminds herself. 

And right away, something shifts in him. Approval. Kylo nods and lets go of the peas, and Rey feels the tension slip from her shoulders as he steps around her chair to stand behind her. “Brava.” She doesn’t know what that means, but he’s practically purring as he says it, so it must be something good. She’ll take it, even if it feels wrong. Even if it makes her feel small. Nervous. It’s better than being in danger.

But as she sets the peas down over the makeshift splint he’d fashioned for her, his hands brush up the slope of her shoulders and she stiffens. He pays no mind to her discomfort as his fingers drift up the nape of her neck before he combs back down the length of her hair.

“You’ll learn,” he murmurs. She doesn’t know if he’s talking to her or if he’s reassuring himself. “It might take some time, but you’ll learn.”

Rey swallows hard and resists the urge to pull away, correcting her last thought: she _is_ in danger. No matter how gentle or kind he might be in the moment, every second she is here is a second closer to the day where he hurts her in a way not quite so easily repaired as a broken finger.

He’ll kill her, she’s certain. He just might not know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [twitter](twitter.com/succubusybody) and [tumblr](succubusybody.tumblr.com) if you'd like to follow me!


	9. You better shape up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again sorry

Rey is alone when she wakes up. She can tell even before she opens her eyes: the weight of his arm draped over her side is gone. 

Good. His presence alone is enough to make her feel like she’s suffocating; he acts like this is all normal. Like they’re a new couple going through a learning curve - like his behavior was anything close to normal, even if he hadn’t _kidnapped_ her. She sits up in the sheets, disoriented until she remembers that they’re in his room, now, and not the one he’d been keeping her in before. Everything smells like him. Her finger aches. She has no idea how long he’s been gone, where he went or when he’ll be back. 

And she can’t tell if that’s relieving or worrisome. 

After trying (and failing) to get back to sleep, Rey slides from the sheets and tentatively tries the door. Locked. She isn’t surprised. His room, though much more well-decorated, has about as much to do as her last room did, and he’s been smart enough now to remove everything sharp or breakable.

The books on his shelves are all in Italian, which isn’t much help. Not that she’d find business books especially entertaining. She walks a slow lap around the room, trailing her fingertips across tasteful dark furniture and walls as she goes. It’s a big room, really, as far as bedrooms go… but she still feels suffocated. Claustrophobic. That must be what happens when you’re trapped in a cage, she thinks. Even if the cage’s owner does have an eye for interior decoration. No amount of expensive upholstery and clean lines could take the edge off this situation.

With a heavy sigh, Rey wanders into the bathroom. More than just her broken finger is sore, and a shower couldn’t possibly make her situation any worse. She’s broken an arm once, back in elementary school, and she figures this homemade splint is similar to a cast in that she shouldn’t get it wet. After poking through his cabinets, she winds up dumping the small waste basket onto the floor and using the liner to cover her hand.

It makes her feel… decent. She’d feel a lot better if she had shower products of her own; instead, she smells like him, and that’s almost enough to make her stomach twist.

Almost.

She picks through the clothes he’s bought her, all carefully folded or hung up in a section of the closet that she’d watched him clear for her the night before. Everything is nice - nicer than anything she would’ve bought for herself. The light colors and breezy fabrics are a far cry from the jeans and band tees she’s used to. It was clear he’d put thought into picking each item out for her, from earrings to skirts to underwear.

No shoes, though. She hadn’t asked about them. He’s a smart man who knows what he’s doing, so their absence from her new wardrobe said all she needed to know.

When he finally arrives some hours later, Rey is sitting on the end of the bed, which has now been made and unmade and remade several times over for the sake of something to do, with her hands folded in her lap. Kylo doesn’t say anything, and she watches as his eyes track around the room. No doubt he’s looking for another trap or ambush, like she’d risk another punishment. His eyes finally land on her, gaze tracing up from the hem of her skirt and over the shirt she’d thought probably matched best.

And when his eyes finally meet hers, she almost thinks she can see the satisfaction glittering in his eyes. It makes her shiver. While having him happy with her is far better than having him angry, it feels uncomfortable and just as dangerous.

“I got you some things while I was out,” he says finally, stepping through the door frame and placing his messenger bag on the desk. She doesn’t get up to join him, but leans to one side to try and peek around him as he rummages through it. Kylo turns back to face her, a book of crossword puzzles in one hand and introductory level Italian textbook in the other.

“To keep your brain busy,” he explains, like she wouldn’t understand the purpose. He sets them down on the desk, stacked just-so with the spines aligned. She’s glad she remembered to put all the trash back in the wastebasket after her shower. “I don’t want you watching television all day when I’m away.”

He turns back around and smiles expectantly. Rey can tell that he thinks he’s taking care of her, and maybe that he enjoys doing it. Worse yet, she can practically _hear_ his voice in the back of her mind telling her to mind her manners. 

“Thank you, Kylo.” Rey forces a smile that she hopes looks genuine, making sure to look him in the eyes. “I really appreciate it.”

His smile widens and he nods, stepping away from her toward the bathroom and loosening his tie. “Of course, carina.” He disappears from view, but she stays put. “You’ve been very good today,” he calls, his voice raised slightly to carry back into the bedroom as he raises the toilet seat. “We reward good behavior. Take your skirt off, please.”

Her chest tightens. No reward that requires undressing is a reward that she _wants_ , but she’s too frightened to say no. Rey stands, stiff - and through the window sees a car moving up the path to the driveway.

Someone is here. _Help_ is here. 

She shoots one glance his direction and doesn’t see him yet. The toilet flushes. She can’t afford to fuck this up; if someone sees her but doesn’t have enough time to actually get her out of the house, she’s worried Kylo might kill her by the time help arrives. So she runs.

Rey is much more familiar with the house now, so by the time she hears him swear (in hindsight, not the most helpful Italian she could have learned before her vacation, but what’s done is done) she’s nearly at the stairs. The door starts to open, and the knowledge that she’s so close to freedom and _he_ is likely so close behind her is enough to drive her forward. Even when she stumbles down the last few steps, landing hard on her knees, it doesn’t matter. Freedom is so close she can taste it.

An older woman steps into the house, and Rey immediately screams for help. The woman stops, all big sunglasses and silver braided updo and regal posture. What if she doesn’t speak English? Is screaming for help pretty universally understood? Kylo’s footsteps thud heavy on the stairs, so she throws herself at the woman’s feet, clinging to her thighs and hoping that her face conveys her terror as she repeats _help me help me he’s keeping me here he’s going to hurt me please help me_ over and over again.

She bursts into tears as large hands wrap around her upper arms, roughly tugging her backwards. The woman takes off her sunglasses, folding the temples inward as she watching Kylo as he tries to haul Rey to her feet before saying something that Rey doesn’t understand. 

“ _Please_ , her Italian is not very good yet.” He grunts as he successfully pulls her up; frustrated, confused and still sobbing, she leans against him as he wraps his arms around her shoulder. She feels him kiss the back of her head. “Be polite to my guests when under my roof, Ma.”

Ma? Rey’s brows furrow as the woman sighs and purses her lips, looking from Kylo’s face to hers to see her for the second time. Now, without the sunglasses, she can see that there’s no concern in her expression.

There’s nothing at _all_. She’s cold.

After a long moment, she looks above Rey’s head, back at Kylo, and shakes her head.

“Your father would be very disappointed if he were here to see this.”


End file.
